Page 22 of Bridles and Bribery

“You?” Dave was surprised to hear it. He’d figured a simple patrol gig would be passed off to someone with lesser experience.

“Yeah, me.” Gil glared indignantly at him. “It’s Jillian we’re talking about.”

And that’s why we’re still best friends after all these years.The relief flooding Dave’s chest made him want to kneel down and kiss the ground. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Gil snorted. “I just finished telling you that you’re about to become the godfather of twins. Every time you babysit,that means twice the number of diapers. Twice the number of?—”

“I don’t remember signing up to babysit!” Dave pretended to be indignant.

Gil shook his head. “You arenotbacking out on me now, bro. Just think of it as more parenting practice,” he wheedled. “Between my kids and yours, you’ll become an expert dad in nothing flat.”

The truth was that the two of them couldn’t wait to become dads — dirty diapers and sloppy kisses included — which felt like the biggest miracle of all.

They grinned like idiots at each other. Dave finally shook his head. “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that we’re both married with babies on the way. Us! At our age!”

Gil curled his upper lip at him. “Speak for yourself, old man. I’ve never felt better.”

Dave backed away from the door with his hands up. “My apologies. I forgot I was speaking to the stallion of Heart Lake.”

Gil rolled up his window, still grinning, and popped his horn a few times as he drove away.

The rain pelted down harder as Dave rolled his suitcase to the door of the turboprop plane. As he drew closer, he could make out red and blue stripes running down the sides of it. It had propellers jutting out from the front of both wings.

The cabin lights were on, so he had no trouble seeing the pilot lean closer to the window and wave a two-fingered welcome at him.

Dave waved back and waited for the steps to descend. His overcoat was damp by the time he entered the cabin. It was an eight-seater with upscale executive accommodations.The cream leather seats were oversized, with the whole gamut of outlets for cell phone chargers, headsets, and other e-devices.

“Sorry about the weather, sir.” A steward relieved him of his carryon and placed it in the storage compartment. His sandy hair was pulled back in a man bun. He was thin to the point of gaunt with a sprinkling of freckles across the backs of his hands. Diamonds glinted from the cufflinks at the wrists of his pale blue dress shirt. Real ones. Dave’s latest client was sending him into the skies in style.

“Eh, it’s alright.” He shrugged out of his overcoat and handed it to the man. “Farmers need the rain.” Even in January. There were a ton of farmers in town operating greenhouses and producing crops year round.

A jarring clap of thunder drew a frown from the only other passenger to Dave’s right. He neither looked up at Dave, nor made any sign that he’d noticed his entrance.

Dave took the seat closest to the door, facing the guy. He didn’t mind being in the air for a couple of hours with a fellow passenger who happened to be a man of few words. He would get a lot more reading in, and maybe a little shut eye.

His guess was the guy was a Federal Air Marshal. The black dress shirt he was wearing didn’t hide the fact that he was wearing a bullet-proof vest underneath it. Plus, he was openly carrying a pair of weapons in a holster around the waist of his dress slacks. Like Dave, he had a receding hairline. Unlike Dave, he wasn’t wearing his hair shaved to hide that fact.

Though they were probably around the same age, the man had more lines creasing the corners of his eyes. More bags beneath them. There was a hard, shuttered cast to his gaze that told Dave he’d seen recent action — the bullet-flying kind. His gut told him it hadn’t ended well for the other guy.

As Dave settled into his seat and clasped his seatbelt, he experienced the prickly sensation that the marshal was watching him from his peripheral vision. While the pilot went through his pre-flight checks and the steward was rattling around the beverage bar, Dave made an effort to catch the guy’s eye. Sometimes, the best way to break an awkward encounter was to make eye contact and exchange greetings. However, the man continued to stare out the window.

An awkward flight it will be, then.Dave finally gave up trying to be sociable. As the plane rolled to the beginning of the runway and waited for the clearance to take off, he pulled out his cell phone and opened the digital copy of Jillian’s paperwork from the surrogacy clinic.

The plane started moving again almost immediately, quickly picking up speed and ascending into the air. It canted right, circled around, and headed in a northeasterly direction. During the plane’s climb to its cruising altitude, they passed through several pockets of turbulence.

“Good evening, folks.” The pilot’s voice blared across the speaker system, warning his two passengers and single crew member that it was going to be a bumpy flight. “I’m gonna climb a little higher to see if we can find smoother sailing up there. As soon as our steward can serve beverages without giving you an unwanted shower or taking an unplanned seat in your lap, he’ll take your orders.”

Dave’s lips twitched at the pilot’s attempt at humor.

“Thank you for your patience with the weather,” he concluded, “and thank you for entrusting your flight to Eagle Charters.” He switched off his microphone and flewthe plane a few thousand feet higher. Unfortunately, the air up there proved to be equally turbulent.

Wondering why the pilot didn’t have a co-pilot assisting him, Dave returned his attention to the agreement Jillian had made with the surrogacy firm in Dallas. It didn’t take long to read through it, which was mildly concerning. He’d been expecting more long-winded legalese — point after nauseating point designed to cover the clinic’s potential liabilities from A to Z at least three times over. Instead, he found himself reading a surprisingly truncated document.

The final addendum to the contract stated that the firm’s client had chosen to exercise the exit clause of their traditional surrogacy agreement. No reason was given. The payments made to Jillian as the biological mother of the child were hers to keep in full. The document went on to state there were no further paternity rights or financial obligations on the part of the surrogacy firm’s client toward her, and she had no legal grounds to demand or receive further compensation for the services she’d rendered. The contract had essentially reverted to a donor agreement — one in which the donor had paid an exorbitant amount of money to impregnate a woman with a child he no longer wanted.

It was complete hogwash, in Dave’s opinion. From what he knew about surrogacy laws in Texas, Jillian most definitely had legal grounds to request further compensation. If she wanted to, she could sue the donor for child support. Assuming she won her case, the donor might convince the court he was due visitation rights in return. It was a murky legal situation at best. He decided on the spot to consult an experienced reproductive lawyer at the soonest opportunity to review the document in his hands.

Not that Jillian and I need one more thing to worry about right now.

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